Perfectly Scripted (41 page)

The drive home was much easier. I stepped off the elevator and tossed my keys into the bowl on the credenza. I needed to get the ring out of my coat pocket and into the safe in my office. From the hallway, I saw Holliday sitting in the living room, curled up with a cashmere blanket and her iPad. For a moment, I just admired her. She was all beauty and brains, and she was braver than anyone I knew. She was perfect—perfect for
me
.

I couldn’t help but feel emotional at the sight spread before me and how it reminded me so much of last December, essentially our first Christmas together. The well-decorated Douglas fir in the corner gleamed with white light. Cinnamon and sugar filled every corner of the room, and the fireplace crackled and snapped—a hypnotic scene, warm and sleep-inducing. Or maybe it was sex-inducing.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at me with a sleepy smile.

“Hi.” I pressed a kiss to her lips. “How was your day?”

“It was exhausting but good, and yours?”

Her bright eyes were heavy-lidded, and her silky, dark hair cascaded in waves over her shoulder. I wanted to freeze this moment and hold on to it forever. The ring in my pocket was burning up, and it took every ounce of my strength to not say fuck my plan and drop to one knee right here.

“Mine was also good, but it’s even better now that I’m home with you,” I answered, shrugging out of my coat.

Holliday moved to make room for me in the chair. I scooped her up and pulled her onto my lap. In a few weeks, I’d ask her to be my wife, and she would say yes. She was mine, and I was hers. It was as simple as that.

“What are you doing New Year’s Eve?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Connolly?”

“Yes,” I said, nuzzling her neck.

“I thought you didn’t date?”

“Well, around this time last year, I met this wild beauty who stole my heart and captured my soul. I’m completely smitten.”

She gazed at me in that way that told me I meant everything to her. “Are you saying you’re in love?”

“Deeply,” I whispered into her hair. “So, will you meet me at The York Hotel on New Year’s Eve?”

“Possibly. Where will I find you?”

“I’ll be the dapper gentleman in the tux, sitting by the fire.” I threaded my fingers with hers, cuddling her close.

“That could be any number of men in Manhattan.”

“You have a solid point,” I murmured, brushing her hair aside to kiss her neck. “But I’m the only one who will know your drink order”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“A Chocolate Kiss, of course,” I answered, trailing my thumb across her lips.

“Of course,” she said. “I think I like your kisses better.”

“Well, you can have those too, any time you want,” I promised, tilting her mouth to mine. I kissed her deeply, brushing my tongue with hers. “I’m right here.”

“And here I am,” she said breathlessly. “Next to you, right where I should be—in your arms.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

And that was the God’s honest truth. Without Holliday, there was an empty space. She filled me with love and adoration. What more could I ask for?

“Yours,” she whispered. “I’m yours—
always
.”

“So, I guess this means I have a date for New Year’s Eve?”

“It seems that fate would have it no other way.”

Ten Years Later

New York City

Holliday

“Mom, Dad, Holliday, and Dax,” Leah announced from the head of the table. “I’ve decided to attend NYU. I want to become an actress.”

“Shit,” Ronan mumbled under his breath.

“Daddy.” Leah’s voice exuded sweetness. “I know what you’re thinking, but you will be proud because I’m double-majoring in business.”

“Well, I suppose I cannot argue with that,” he said with a full smile.

“Yes. Like you, I want to have a solid backup plan if this whole Hollywood thing doesn’t work out.”

“You might as well leak a sex tape now, because your acting skills suck,” Jade said, lifting her head from her smartphone.

I bit my lip to stifle a laugh, and I immediately covered our son’s ears. Our daughter was too young to understand what her half-sister was saying.

“Watch your tongue, young lady,” Emma admonished.

Jade said that she was sorry, but she really wasn’t, not bothering to hide the look of smug satisfaction on her face.

Of course, my niece and nephew were laughing their asses off. Charlotte and Lucan had heard worse from the terrible teen twosome, I was sure. They still had their sweet moments, but oh my, teenagers scared the shit out of me.

Nudging my husband, I said, “Remember when they all used to be so fucking sweet?”

He laughed and ordered another bottle of champagne for the table.

“I heard that, Aunt Holliday,” Owen said, cocking an eyebrow in my direction.

I shrugged and told him not to tell anyone. He shook his head and continued eating his waffles.

At the head of the table, Leah looked defeated. Quick thinking had me on my feet. Raising my glass, I offered a toast.

“Leah, congratulations on your college decision, and here’s to pursuing your dreams.”

“Oh, thank you, Holliday!” she squealed, excitement beaming in her eyes. Eyes so green that they dazzled like her father’s. “I’m sure I won’t need my business degree, considering my father is an Oscar-winning actor and my mother is a five-time Emmy winner. My DNA pool is deep.”

Emma and Dax nearly choked on their champagne.

I sat down and expelled a deep breath. “Holy shit, she’s cocky,” I whispered to Ronan. “I wonder where she gets that from.”

“My beauty,” he whispered. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you. Just wait until I get you in bed. I plan to keep you there all weekend.”

Those words twisted deliciously inside me. Then a shiver racked my brain as I remembered the afternoon I’d found out I was pregnant with Michael James and how I’d narrowly escaped throwing up on the red carpet. My husband tried desperately to get us to skip the event that day by keeping me in bed. Thank goodness we had been near the end of the press line, or Ryan Seacrest and the entire world would have witnessed me vomiting. A trip to the French Riviera and a few days of being sun-drenched, screwed senseless, and plied with booze and I’d forgotten to take my pill.

This was why, a few weeks later, I’d found myself hauling ass to the ladies’ room at the Royal Opera House. Ronan had chased after me. As soon as I’d dropped to my knees in a couture gown, everything in my stomach had come up. It had been awful. Five minutes later, when I’d emerged, my husband had a handsome smirk on his face.

“Are you okay?” he’d asked.

I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my face. “I…I think I might have the flu or be pregnant. It’s a toss-up, and I’m fairly certain that I ruined my dress.”

Over his shoulder, a mass of paparazzi were snapping pictures of us, and I hid my face. Ronan stepped away and asked them to please respect our privacy. They left us alone, and before I knew it, Ronan had security taking us to our limo with instructions to go to the Portland Hospital. After a round of tests, we learned the news that I was eight weeks pregnant. Ronan was overwhelmed with joy, and once the shock wore off and I saw how happy he was, I knew that everything was going to be all right. We’d been married for three years at that point, but we hadn’t had time to think about starting a family. So the decision had been made for us.

Our daughter, Arabella Grace, had been planned, the product of our six-year anniversary. She had been conceived at The York. I might tell her someday when I think she can handle it and not end up in therapy.

Michael looked exactly like his father: bright-green eyes and curly, dark-brown hair. Arabella’s my mini-me, a mass of wavy, beach-blonde hair and blue-green eyes. Once in a while, I’d change up my hair color, but Ronan loved me as a brunette. He teased me that he felt like he was with a different woman when it was blonde.

After another round of cocktails, Ronan paid the bill and we said our goodbyes. Charlotte and Lucan took our kids with them, explaining that we were going bye-bye for the weekend. Arabella cried, but Michael was such a sweet big brother. He kissed her and told her that we’d be back soon.

“So, Mrs. Connolly, are you ready for your romantic weekend?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, looping my arm with his as we walked to the elevators.

“I’m very glad to hear that. As much as I love our children, I love the idea of having you all to myself.”

Stepping into the elevator, he pressed the keycard into the slot, and we went sailing up. The doors opened to reveal the familiar private foyer with the elegant chandelier. Every year on our return visit, I still get breathless, as my thoughts are propelled back to the time my twenty-six-year-old self had stood outside these doors about to have dinner with Ronan. Who would have known I would meet my future husband that cold December day?

Today, he looked at me the same way he had that night all those years ago: like he wanted to devour me. But there was so much more now. More love, more passion—more of everything.

Our luggage had already been delivered. I instantly recognized the music softly piping in through the system as one from
our
playlist, which had grown massively over the years.

Once settled, I kicked my heels off while Ronan poured us drinks from the fully stocked bar.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, handing me the glass tumbler.

“Our wedding day,” I replied over the lip of my glass.

“Interesting. That was a wonderful day, but the wedding night was my favorite.”

I laughed and tossed back my drink. “Of course it was.”

His Irish accent was thick and husky as his hand grazed my hip. “In fact, I’d like to go ahead and kick this weekend off properly.”

“What do you suggest?”

He drew his hand around to the back of my cream-colored sheath dress, sliding the zipper down. “First, I say we shrug out of these clothes.” His lips brushed over my skin, kissing my neck.

I moaned at the pleasurable contact. A rush of heat passed over my skin as I shimmied my hips and the fabric pooled at my feet. His hands stroked my back, and careful fingers freed the clasp of my bra. Then he worked my panties down my legs, and they joined my other garments on the floor.

Pulling me close, he whispered in my ear, “And then we should turn down the bed and sleep like we haven’t slept in six years.”

I laughed, because there was one thing I knew to be very true about my husband: He never missed an opportunity to get me naked and under him. Before I could say another word, he scooped me up and carried me to the bed.

He eased me down on to the plush feather comforter and allowed me the viewing pleasure of watching him strip out of his clothes. He was beautiful, all lean muscle with sculpted shoulders, a broad chest dusted lightly with hair, and defined abs that made me weak in the knees and dizzy with need.

My pulse raced when the mattress dipped. My husband’s hands explored every inch of my body. His fingers worked a stroking rhythm against my skin, while his beautiful lips feathered kisses over my curves. He paused to blow his warm breath across the dip in my belly.

He looked up at me with those eyes, those brilliant green eyes that had the power to hypnotize me under their smoldering gaze. With a smile and a wink, I was a goner, lost in a haze of lust. His lips, warm and wet, slid kisses across my collarbone and over my breasts before taking my nipple in his mouth and teasing with rolling licks. When he thrusted two fingers into me, my hips bucked.

“You’re so wet.”

“I know. I’m always wet for you…Blah, blah,” I teased him. “Now, stop talking and just fuck me already.”

“My wife, you have quite the dirty mouth,” he growled. “God, I love you.”

“And I love you.”

I pressed my lips against his, pulling him into a hot, demanding kiss. I kissed him until my lips were puffy and swollen. Sliding his body over mine, he slipped between my legs. My hands pushed through his hair, holding him close.